The road to your parents house is fraught with danger and excitement.
Christmas Eve 1989 found me driving home to my parent’s farm in Idaho to spend Christmas with my family.
Normally, this wouldn’t have been the least bit stressful. Due in no small part to the fact that my mother would put out a glorious spread of homemade candy that would be enough to send most people into a diabetic coma. I loved going home for Christmas.
But ’89 was the year I quit reparative therapy, and accepted the fact that, less than petite bone structure or no, (it’s so difficult to buy a size 20 ball gown off the rack) I was indeed a princess, and that wasn’t going to change.
I was still totally in the closet as far as my family was concerned. In coming out to myself however, I’d unwittingly opened the door to a candy shop of an altogether different variety; as a result the majority of 1989 was spent sampling every flavor and, err size of “candy” that I could find.
Home was familiar, but increasingly uncomfortable territory. I just knew that I would be required to share a room with at least two or more brothers and/or cousins and as the evening wore on, I kept getting more and more fidgety. I was feeling antsy, and in desperate need of some “candy.” Finally at about 9:00 p.m. I made the excuse that I needed to sleep in my own bed, that I would drive the 45 minutes back to my place in Logan, and would return in the morning.
Back then, we had no way of even imagining the convenience of cell phones and texting or even internet chat rooms and online hookups. We desperate and lonely princesses in hiding had to meet each other the old-fashioned way, cruising in parks, public rest rooms and highway rest areas. Through extensive study, I’d become quite intimately familiar with the mating rituals of the North American Homosexual Male, and his natural habitat.
Instead of driving right to my house, I made a slight detour to the legendary “candy store” of the rest room at Lady Bird Park. It was now about midnight, on Christmas Eve, and a light snowfall had begun to blanket the valley and I could hear the church bells announcing the end of midnight mass. I entered the rest room and took up residence in the stall.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when in Lady Bird Park
The rest room was quiet, and peaceful and dark;
My eyes peered at the urinal and scanned it with care,
In the hopes a Yule visitor soon would be there;
My ass was nestled all snug on the throne,
While visions of “sugarplums” danced round my bone;
I was not expecting a vice squad trap,
so I just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
When outside there arose the sound of snow crunching,
I feared the worst. Oh God, lesbians munching!
Through the peephole my eyes studied the scene,
spying the sink and a wall that was green.
Then, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a magnificent stud glancing shyly to rear.
Taking a break from his Santa Claus duty,
He’s obviously searching for Christmas Eve booty.
The boy was built like a shit-house of brick.
and soon he pulled out his “peppermint stick.”
His eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, His bottom so “cherry!”
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the floor
The tapping of shoes crossing to my stall door.
As I drew up my head, and was turning around,
Round the corner came Studly, his zipper pulled down.
His face was quite handsome and he had a six-pack belly
That did not shake at all, like a bowl full of jelly.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
My mouth full of candy, I tried not to shirk.
I placed my first finger, against his pink rose,
And giving a nod, up his chimney it rose;
More rapid than eagles the “candy cane” came.
as he whistled and shouted, and called me strange names;
“You’re much better than Comet and Donner or Blitzen,
Now, faster! now, deeper! now, harder you Vixen!”
When finished he slumped to the back of the wall
And then dashed away! dashed away! dashed away all!
He sprang to his car as he gave a whistle,
“Now off to buy batteries for my kid’s toy missile.”
And away his car flew down Old Main Hill,
I sat there quite spent, I must need a pill.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all,” and to me a “good night.”
Of course, Christmas morning I returned to the farm, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed; thoroughly refreshed and ready to take on the world. My parents were still perplexed as to why I did not want to stay overnight. In this instance, I thought discretion was the better part of valor and ignorance is bliss.
Like always these events leave us with many important questions:
1. When they coined the phrase, “You can never go home again,” were they thinking of us princesses?
2. Where can I get some “peppermint sticks?”
3. Are “Sugarplums” a euphemism?
4. Should rest rooms be built with chimneys?
5. When can I play Santa Claus again?
6. Where in the hell was Rudolph?
These and other important questions to be answered in future chapters of The Perils of Petunia Pap-Smear.